No Higher Honor: A Memoir of My Years in Washington

20 FOUR MORE YEARS

AS THE SUMMER APPROACHED, the attention of the White House turned to the reelection campaign and I reminded myself to stay focused on the tasks of national security. Steve and I decided that one of us would always travel with the President on the campaign trail; it was the first presidential election since 9/11, and the President needed senior national security support at all times. Once in a while Bob Blackwill, who was experienced and had been a Vulcan in 2000, could spell us. On the trail we could also support the President as he faced a barrage of questions about the war, terrorism, and the other security controversies day after day.

Amid the inevitable distractions of the campaign, I gave a lot of thought to how to keep the President’s preferences central to what the agencies were doing operationally. It crossed my mind that there might be more than a few career people in the agencies hoping to see George Bush retire to Texas. Maybe it was an unfair thought, but it was there, and I wanted to be sure that no one gave in to the temptation to treat the President, who was facing a tough campaign, as a lame duck.

Because national security was at the crux of so much of the debate, I decided to make a series of speeches around the country to explain what we were doing. It wasn’t lost on me that this might be seen as “campaigning” and in contravention of the long-standing tradition by which the national security team stays out of politics. I did indeed speak in a number of battleground states. But I spoke in Texas and Kentucky too, hardly in play in electoral politics. I was careful to avoid political messages in my speeches, but I did take on the President’s critics. Could anyone have been surprised that I wanted George W. Bush reelected? I thought that it would help the cause if I explained the policies outside Washington’s echo chamber. Still, there was a good deal of tongue wagging about what I was doing and even an investigation by the Office of Special Counsel. It found nothing to suggest that I’d crossed the line.

How did we bear up amid all the contentiousness? Clearly it is miserable to be the incumbent, constantly defending every aspect of your record and answering charges of incompetence or, worse, venality. When the record included September 11, Afghanistan, and Iraq, the task was obviously formidable. I felt each morning as if we were shackled in medieval stocks in a public square, with people throwing fruit at us. I told my cousin that there were days when I felt like Wile E. Coyote in the Road Runner cartoons. The unfortunate coyote would catch on to a branch to keep from falling over the cliff and then hang on, his feet in constant motion above the pit below as the road runner chopped away at the branch.

Each morning seemed to bring some new charge or leaked intelligence. In the last week of the campaign, a story appeared that the insurgency was getting many of its weapons from unguarded depots that the military could not account for. The image of our troops being attacked by weapons stolen from stockpiles that were supposed to be under our control became a cause célèbre.

The story just wouldn’t go away, every news cycle bringing fresh reports about the connection between the insurgency and unguarded weapons depots. After many entreaties from the White House, the Pentagon finally decided to call a press conference and refute the stories as best it could, since frankly the evidence was pretty compelling. The apparent thievery that was taking place was another consequence of the manpower shortage we were experiencing.

I was on the road with the President when the press conference took place. Since I never wanted to be seen at a rally, I usually stayed on board Air Force One if the stop was short or perhaps hung back in the staff holding room at the event. An ingenious press person at Defense had found a young army captain who’d led the team that secured many of the weapons depots. He was perfect: clean-cut, earnest, and patriotic. Larry Di Rita, the Pentagon spokesman, introduced him but did so with a long, confused windup that undercut the crisp message of competence that was intended. I sat there with the press people yelling at the TV, “Larry, get off the stage!” Finally he did, but the moment had passed and the captain’s message was lost on the press corps.

That story, though, was nothing compared to the bombshell that dropped four days before the election. We were in Ohio when we got word that Osama bin Laden had released a tape threatening the United States. It must have been meant to undermine confidence in George W. Bush and contribute to his defeat. But bin Laden didn’t understand American politics. I know that John Kerry’s people thought it helped the President by reminding the American people of the man who had stood on the rubble of the World Trade Center and rallied them in defense of the country. Our press people worried, but I think the Kerry camp’s assessment was more likely right. In the end, it may never be clear which way the tape moved the needle or if it mattered at all.

THE DAY BEFORE the election, we flew to Dallas for a huge rally and then spent the night at the ranch. Karen and I shared the guesthouse, and I tossed and turned as she spent the bulk of the night on the telephone. Before heading back to Washington the next morning, the President wanted to make one final appearance in Ohio to show his appreciation for all the campaign volunteers there. On Air Force One after the event, I followed the election coverage on television and on my favorite website, Realclearpolitics. Just as we were about to land, Karl received news on his BlackBerry that was clearly unwelcome. His face was ashen as he began to read off the early exit polls: down in Ohio; down in Michigan; up one in Alabama. Up one in Alabama? I thought. This is going to be a landslide defeat!

The President and Laura came into the staff cabin as Karl continued the devastating readout. The President said very quietly, “Too bad.” Overcome with sadness, I rushed out of the cabin and into the nearby restroom. I didn’t know what to say to the President. I didn’t know what to say to my friend.

Air Force One landed at Andrews Air Force Base, and we then disembarked and climbed aboard Marine One to take us to the White House. Karl noted that exit polls are sometimes wildly wrong and suggested that everyone just suspend judgment until the information was better. It was hard to do.

As I was sitting in my office, again glued to Realclearpolitics, Sean McCormack poked his head in the door. “You know,” he said, “something is wrong with these data. For one thing, the percentage of women in the sample is almost twice what it should be.” It was a ray of hope, anyway.

I decided to go home. I tried to sleep, having failed to do so the night before, but couldn’t. So I took a shower and returned to the White House, where we would view the election returns. A few minutes after I arrived, President George H. W. Bush stopped by my office. “It’s not looking too good,” he said.

“I don’t know,” I replied, “Karl is telling everyone that the composition of the survey sample for the exit polls seems to be skewed against us.”

“Let’s hope so,” he said with a little resignation in his voice.

The plan was to have the senior staff and spouses watch the returns on TV in the Roosevelt Room. After about an hour, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I’m going to find Karl, I decided.

I found him upstairs in the family dining room, where he’d set up a kind of war room. “Can I make myself useful?” I asked, not wanting to just sit around and do nothing. “Yes. You can follow Ohio,” he said, taking the time to show me how the computer program worked. Slowly but surely the electoral votes began to pile up. Indeed, the exit polling had been wrong. When Karl’s program showed that we’d won Ohio, the room broke into pandemonium. The verdict was confirmed a few minutes later on several television broadcasts. I hugged Karl. “We tried to screw it up for you,” I said, referring to the series of mishaps and leaks of the last month of the campaign. “But he pulled it off!”

As the hours passed, though, it became clear John Kerry wasn’t ready to concede. Here we go again, I thought. Can the country handle another recount? With the celebration postponed, I went home at 3:00 A.M., uncertain of the results. But this time there would be no recount. Senator Kerry conceded the next morning. The President had won another term.

I walked into the Oval Office shortly after he’d heard the news. “Congratulations, sir!” He thanked me for all I’d done and then said that we needed to talk about the future. In the weeks prior, he’d said a couple of times that Colin was ready to step down and that he wanted me to be secretary of state, so I knew what was coming. I deflected the conversation for the moment, saying there would be time to talk at Camp David, where we’d go for a long weekend the next day. It was November 3. In eleven days I’d be fifty, and I was about to become the secretary of state. But the President and I needed to talk first, as directly as we ever had. I’d liked being his national security advisor, but a lot would change when I left the White House and crossed into Foggy Bottom, as the State Department was informally known. He and I both needed to understand how we’d handle the new relationship, one that, historically, hadn’t always been smooth: the interaction between the President of the United States and the secretary of state.